Page 14 of Highland Getaway
Everyone nods eagerly, especially me.
‘I don’t do icebreakers,’ says Yasmin Hussein, speaking for the first time. ‘My agent should have told you that.’
She’s wearing her dark glasses perched on top of her head this morning, and her skin is so flawless she almost doesn’t look real. I seem to remember there were rumours of her being invited onto some kind of reality TV show a few months ago, so I expect this is all a bit beneath her, really.
‘Look,’ says Zara, in her matter-of-fact way, pushing her cloud of hair out of her eyes. ‘We do all know each other – well, all except Rosie. And I think Rosie’s well and truly broken the ice already, so .?.?.’
Every eye in the room swivels to me.
‘Itwouldbe nice to get to know Rosie a little better, though, wouldn’t it?’ says Bex innocently, a glint of mischief in her eye which Sabrina totally misses; probably because she doesn’t seem to be particularly familiar with the concept of normal human emotions. ‘Maybesheshould do the icebreaker?’
‘OK, OK,’ Sabrina sighs, refilling her coffee cup, having drained the last one already. ‘Why don’t you tell us a bit about yourself, Rosie?’
I reluctantly put down my cutlery, hoping to God I don’t have egg on my face – literally or otherwise.
‘Um, well, I’m Rosie Winter,’ I begin, wondering if I should stand up, as if I’m giving a presentation at work, then deciding against it. ‘As you know. I’m from London, and I’m an office manager. I, er .?.?. that’s it, really.’
I pluck a slice of toast off my plate and take a bite, wracking my brain for something vaguely interesting I could tell them about myself, but it’s no use: I’ve got nothing here. I’m fairly sure they’re not going to want to hear about my siblings’ kids, for instance, whom I spend most of my time with when I’m not at work – or, well,shopping– and they definitely won’t want to hear about how I’m going to have to sleep on my sister’s couch if I can’t find somewhere else to live soon.
So, yeah: there’s really not a lot to tell about my life right now. Or nothinggood, anyway. Which is, of course, the main reason I’m here.
‘Wait. You have a job other than Instagram?’ says Millie, her little rosebud mouth forming an ‘O’ of astonishment.
‘Well, yeah,’ I reply, tearing chunks out of the poor piece of toast. ‘I .?.?. haven’t been on Instagram very long, really. I’m not like all of you.’
Bex gives a ‘you don’t say’ kind of snort, and I’m actually relieved, for once, when Sabrina interrupts, having presumably heard enough about me for one lifetime.
‘Right,’ she says, putting her coffee cup down so firmly I’m surprised it doesn’t break. ‘Let’s get on with it, shall we? So, as you all know, you’ve been invited here to do some pre-launch social media publicity for this wonderful hotel, which officially opens to the public next week. What youdon’tknow, though,’ she adds coyly, ‘is that when we came up with the agenda for this week, we decided to make things a little more interesting, with an exciting competition.’
She pauses so everyone except me can ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ obligingly. I just sit there with a horrible, sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, which I’m pretty sure is only partly due to the speed at which I just inhaled my breakfast.
Well, Ididmiss dinner last night .?.?.
‘Luna?’ snaps Sabrina, looking at her assistant, who’s watching her as if she’s hearing all of this for the first time, along with the rest of us.
‘Oh. Right,’ says Luna, plucking an iPad from the table in front of her and holding it up so we can all see it. ‘Welcome to the Face of the Chrysalis Contest.’
She pushes a button, and the screen bursts into life, photos and video clips of the hotel scrolling across the screen, accompanied by a voice-over explaining that the Chrysalis is looking for someone to be the face of the brand: someone who’ll spend a full year under contract with the hotel, staying there one weekend every month (all expenses paid, naturally .?.?.) and creating content to promote the Highland’s most popular wellness retreat.
‘We just put in that last bit to make it sound good,’ says Luna, putting the iPad down again. ‘It hasn’t actually opened yet so we don’t really know if it’s going to be popular, but—’
‘Luna!’ snaps Sabrina again. ‘Ofcourseit’s going to be popular. Especially with all of these amazingly influential people on board.’
‘And Rosie, too,’ says Bex, beaming as if she’s paying me a compliment.
Sabrina beams around the table as if she’s bestowing a very great gift upon us all. Although she’s obviously making an effort to be a bit less abrasive than she was last night, her strained smile and jerky movements suggest an undercurrent of stress that would almost make me feel sorry for her, if she wasn’t so incredibly difficult to like.
‘Now,’ she goes on. ‘The details. It’s pretty straightforward, actually. All you have to do is what you usually do; take photos, make videos, post them on your socials. We’ve given each of you a unique referral code to give to your followers, and at the end of the week, the person – or couple – who’ve referred the most bookings will become the face – or faces – of the hotel. It’s as simple as that. The codes are in the information packs Luna’s handing out now. Oh, and you’ll find an updated itinerary for the stay in there, too: we’ve made a few changes since we put together the last one.’
Luna gets to her feet and makes her way around the table, distributing glossy, cardboard files, which contain some printed information about the hotel, along with its key messages (‘Let the Highlands heal you’; ‘Rest, rejuvenate, rediscover’; ‘The start of your next chapter’), some ‘talking points’ and, of course, our unique referral codes. Mine is ‘ROSIESUMMERS’. I’m sure that won’t be confusing for people at all.
Sabrina smiles again as we all rifle through our information packs, although this time most of her energy is directed at Bex and Daniel, and there’s no mistaking who she’s expecting to become the faces of the hotel.
‘Sounds great, Sabrina,’ says Bex, looking smug.
‘But let’s talk figures,’ adds her husband, leaning forward and making a little pyramid with his hands, which he stares at her over the top of like a James Bond villain. ‘You said the winner would get a year-long contract. So, how much are we talking?’
‘I thought you might ask that,’ replies Sabrina, producing a piece of paper, which she slides across the table to Daniel and Bex, who look at it, then slide it over to Yasmin. She passes it to Zara, who passes it to Millie, who’s about to pass it back to Sabrina when I clear my throat to remind her I’m still here, and she reluctantly hands it to me instead.
